


The Watcher in the Woods

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Category: Glee
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Camping, Drama, Established Relationship, Hallucinations, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Sebastian are going camping in the woods that Sebastian used to visit as a child to celebrate Sebastian's birthday. But something else, something a bit more sinister, decides to interrupt their trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off a prompt I received a while back on tumblr from flowerfan2, who requested a camping story with some hijinks, maybe a canoe overturning. Well, that's how it started. xD The chapters are going to be relatively short, and there will be a time stamp on the top of each to give an impression of when everything happens and how long it takes (inspired by the show 24).

_3:00 p.m. – 3:59 p.m._

Kurt cards shivering hands through his soaking wet mop of hair, shaking out as much of the ice cold river water as he can to keep random drops from pouring down his face, carrying product into his already burning eyes. He squeegees excess water down his cheeks and off his neck, but it doesn’t seem to make him any drier, especially with swells repeatedly rising up to splash him in the face. He blows an exasperated breath through quivering, nearly blue lips - a loud and obnoxious exclamation of his seething anger.

“I c-can’t believe you t-tipped the f-f-fucking canoe!” he sputters when his groans and harrumphs get no response. Sebastian raises the overturned canoe higher above his head, shouldering the burden that Kurt has made quite clear he has no intention of helping with. Sebastian plants his feet into the shifting sediment of the river bed, step after step, to keep from being swept up by the current.

“Well, _princess_ ,” Sebastian growls as water slaps him on the neck below his chin, “if you had been a bigger help rowing than just sitting on your ass and bitching, I wouldn’t have hit the rock and the canoe wouldn’t have flipped over.”

“You don’t even care that I’m soaked to the bone,” Kurt grumps on, ignoring Sebastian’s grunts of protest as the current picks up out of nowhere and gets stronger. “This water is probably teeming with all sorts of bacteria and parasites.” A wave smacks Kurt on the cheek, filling his mouth with water, and he spits it out frantically, scraping the flat of his tongue over the ridge of his top front teeth and spitting again for good measure.

“There are no parasites in this river,” Sebastian tosses back, rolling his eyes. “And bacteria exists everywhere, sweetheart. They live in your eyelashes. You can’t escape that.”

“I have twenty-two bottles of Purell in my suitcase,” Kurt mumbles. “Watch me.”

“You’re going to have to bathe in it then,” Sebastian says, chuckling for the first time since they’ve been tossed into the river because he can finally see the shore, coming closer, becoming clearer through the film of water blurring his vision. Not just the shore, though – the shore where they constructed _their_ campsite. Relief at the sight of their tent, their food secured in a bear bag hung up in a tree, and their portable picnic table adds power to his steps, endurance to his shaking limbs.

Sebastian feels like they’ve been fighting the river for hours, his legs gelatinous with his attempt at bracing himself against the surge, and his arms and shoulders screaming in spasms of white heat with the weight of the canoe he’s holding aloft above his head. They actually tipped over much farther up river, but for every foot perpendicular they’ve traveled, they’ve gone a foot parallel. He was afraid they’d have to walk for miles to make it back to their site, considering his stubborn boyfriend refused to get back into the Goddamned canoe. Seeing their campsite, Sebastian feels lightheaded, and finally at liberty to poke fun at his boyfriend now that he knows they’re not going to die in a watery grave. This is definitely a good sign – the kind of sign that points all arrows toward every other decision he has to make. Yup, everything after this is going to be cake. He can’t wait to get to their campsite, get dry, and continue with the plan he had when he first coerced Kurt into getting in the canoe.

A plan he’s been waiting weeks to see to fruition.

The plan that was rudely interrupted by hitting the rapids unexpectedly.

Sebastian had been sure he’d kept them far enough down river to avoid them. He can only guess that his navigation skills have gotten a little rusty over the years. The last time he’d officially gone camping out in the woods was over ten years ago, and that was with his father.

“My vintage Marc Jacobs shirt is ruined, Seb. Absolutely ruined,” Kurt mutters, sounding like a spoiled toddler. Sebastian imagines that Kurt has been complaining for a while, but he’s been too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any attention.

“Serves you right. Who wears designer clothes on a camping trip anyway?” Sebastian grinds the unsympathetic words from between clattering teeth, clenched together painfully hard due to the cold racking his aching muscles, pulling them taut. He makes his way onto the shore and flips the canoe right side up, walking it backward up the sandy embankment and sliding it to the safety of a grassy patch. Kurt trudges out of the river behind him, running his hands down his torso in a rapidly failing attempt to wring the water from his wrecked shirt without taking it off and exposing his wet skin to the chill in the air.

“Okay,” Kurt says, not willing to concede the point, “but who goes camping when there’s a perfectly good five-star hotel and outlet shopping not ten miles from here?” Kurt gives up on his shirt with a pathetic sigh and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to trap what’s left of his escaping heat. “I mean, you’ve known me for _how many_ years, Sebastian? What about me screams outdoor explorer?”

“Forgive me if I thought camping out alone together in the gorgeous outdoors would be romantic,” Sebastian argues, rummaging through his pack for a towel.

“A candlelit bubble bath is romantic,” Kurt counters, hugging himself tight, unable to move in his frozen state. “A king-sized bed covered in satin sheets and sprinkled with rose petals is romantic. Strawberries and champagne are romantic. Spooky ass woods are _not_ romantic.”

Sebastian scoffs, pulling out his towel and rubbing his hair with it while Kurt looks on, scowling that Sebastian didn’t offer him one when he knows very well there are two in Sebastian’s pack.

“I’ve been coming up here since I was a kid. Families camp up here all the time. These woods _aren’t_ spooky.”

“Oh yeah? Even the ranger thought you were insane for dragging me up here.”

“The ranger didn’t think I was insane for taking you camping up here, sweetheart,” Sebastian laughs with a heavy layer of condescension. “He was warning us about mountain lions, bobcats, and bears, the same way they do with _every_ camper that comes up here.”

“I didn’t hear a word about mountain lions or bobcats or bears,” Kurt grouses, gazing down at the soaked socks peeking out of his shoes and whimpering. “He said, and I quote, ‘people have been seeing a lot of strange things in these woods recently. I’d be careful if I were you.’”

A strong wind blows off the river, traveling through the underbrush and swirling up to the branches of the trees. It rustles the leaves above their heads, sending down a shower of the changing yellow and red ones. Kurt stops talking and freezes, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the disturbance while Sebastian watches, shaking his head.

“He was just teasing you, babe,” Sebastian assures him. “Trying to scare you. You’re pretty damn green around the gills. He knew it would be easy.”

“All the more reason for me not to be here.” Kurt leans against a tree, staring solemnly at the shoes he’ll need to replace.

“Babe,” Sebastian whines, tossing his towel over his shoulder and stalking up to Kurt, “it’s _my birthday_. You said we could do whatever I wanted on _my birthday_.”

Sebastian puts a hand on each side of Kurt, caging him against the tree. Kurt shoves the smile threatening to spread on his face as far away as he can, not wanting Sebastian to know how easily he affects him…even though he already knows. That’s why he pulls stupid stunts like these. He knows he can get away with them.

“That’s because I thought you were going to, you know, choose adult dress-up or an all-night blow job.” Kurt pulls his lower lip down in a pout, batting his eyelashes.

“Oh, babe,” Sebastian coos in response to Kurt’s demure gaze and his playful pout, closing in on his mouth and that pulled-down lower lip, “we can still do that.”

Sebastian’s mouth presses against Kurt’s, but with a huff, Kurt turns his face away and Sebastian’s kiss lands on his cheek.

“Yeah, right,” Kurt says. “You wish. I’m not rolling around in the dirt like an animal.”

“You _are_ an animal,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt’s cheek, “and we have a tent, you know.”

Sebastian’s kisses travel lower, trying to entice Kurt into turning back around, but Kurt tilts his head away snobbishly. Sebastian grumbles but he backs off, hoping that Kurt isn’t really too pissed to fuck and that this diva act is all part of the game.

“Alright,” Sebastian says, pushing away. He keeps his eyes on Kurt’s face, watching Kurt’s eyes widen an inch in response to his relenting. “If that’s the way you feel about it.” Sebastian walks back toward his pack, throwing his towel down and grabbing the hem of his t-shirt. “Never let it be said that I forced myself on you.” Sebastian strips off his shirt, peeling it from his body, taking longer than necessary in the hopes that Kurt is watching. He drops the sopping shirt aside and shakes out his wet hair, the same way he does when he comes out of the shower, the way he knows Kurt thinks is super sexy.

With Sebastian’s back turned to him, all Kurt can see is the chiseled muscles that line his boyfriend’s spine and broad shoulders, but that’s fine, since this view happens to be one of Kurt’s favorites. Suddenly, Kurt’s ruined shirt is the last thing on his mind as he watches water drip down Sebastian’s lightly tanned skin, his muscles pulling as he moves, his jeans drenched and clinging to his well-developed legs. Sebastian stops undressing and turns, dark eyes focused on Kurt’s face, cheeks flushing a deep red. Sebastian prepares to continue their fight – Kurt isn’t known for rolling over easily - but Kurt fidgets beneath Sebastian’s gaze, hungry eyes scanning his wet body.

Sebastian smirks, knowing this fight is over, and he’s won.

“So, are you rethinking that blow job at all?”

“Maybe,” Kurt admits, leaning his body into Sebastian’s as Sebastian crowds him back against the tree.

“Maybe?” Sebastian whispers. Kurt nods. “Well, how can I completely change your mind?”

Kurt opens his mouth to answer but Sebastian doesn’t give him the chance, locking his mouth over Kurt’s and kissing him, pressing him hard into the bark behind him. Kurt runs his hands up Sebastian’s back, fingertips tracing the cut of his muscles. He moans as he reaches Sebastian’s shoulders, caressing those rock-hard muscles that he likes to latch on to, and pulls Sebastian closer, making their kiss deeper. His hands continue their journey as Sebastian fits his lower body against Kurt’s, rutting slowly between his legs. Kurt’s fingers run down Sebastian’s arms, the fingertips of his left hand hitting something unexpected.

“Mmm, Seb?” Kurt mumbles into Sebastian’s mouth – a mouth insistent on not being interrupted. “What is this?”

“This?” Sebastian asks with a smile, rutting against Kurt again, harder. “Oh, is this how we’re playing it? You’re the blushing virgin and I’m…”

“No, you egomaniac – this.” Kurt brings Sebastian’s right arm up until he can see his own forearm.

Sebastian squints his eyes at the jagged red mark he hadn’t noticed with his skin numb from the frigid water.

“This?” Sebastian asks, pulling his arm away and getting back to his kiss. “It’s just a scratch.” Sebastian’s lips claim Kurt’s again, but Kurt wrenches away, and Sebastian drops his forehead into the tree trunk with a loud _thunk_. “Kurt, if you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to make moves on you.”

“It looks inflamed,” Kurt comments with concern, ignoring Sebastian’s third attempt at a kiss and bending to look at the scratch.

“Calm down darling,” Sebastian says, changing tactics by putting a hand to Kurt’s head, trying to push his boyfriend toward his crotch. “It’s no big deal.”

“You should get your EpiPen,” Kurt suggests, shaking Sebastian’s hand off and standing up straight. “Did you even remember to bring it with you?”

Kurt starts patting down Sebastian’s pants and Sebastian jerks away quickly. Kurt raises an eyebrow in confusion, but Sebastian starts checking the pockets for him.

“Yes,” he says, “I brought it with me…” He shoves his hand into his left front pocket, then his right, looking startled for a second before checking his back pockets for the second time. No EpiPen, but thankfully, something else. Something even more important. Something he had intended on breaking out before they went for their unscheduled swim. “Huh…it must have washed down the river.” He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ll just slap some hydrocortisone on it.” The grin springs back to Sebastian’s face and he returns to his stance around Kurt’s body. “So, where were we? I think you were just about to give me that b.j.”

“Sebastian,” Kurt complains, bracing his hands against Sebastian’s chest and keeping his boyfriend from kissing him again, “my Navigator is, like, five miles from here. If anything happens, if you have an allergic reaction and I have to take you to the ranger’s station…”

Sebastian drops his head back on his neck, stares up at the blue sky above, and groans dramatically.

“Sweetheart, if I was having a severe allergic reaction, I wouldn’t be breathing right now. But, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch, and your nagging is _really_ killing my boner.”

Sebastian grabs Kurt’s wrists and yanks his hands away, holding them down to his side.

“Well, excuse me if I…”

Sebastian ups his game, kissing Kurt harder, tugging at his shirt, undoing the buttons, fumbling to get his hands on Kurt’s skin, inside his pants.

“Come on, Kurt,” he mutters between kisses, even during kisses, biting Kurt’s lower lip in the process, “we’ve been here five hours already and we still haven’t had sex. I love you, babe. I want you so bad. I really need to… _can you help me get this wet shit off_?”

Kurt laughs out suddenly, nearly spitting in Sebastian’s mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Seb,” Kurt says, snickering too much to kiss Sebastian back. “You’re like a fucking cat in heat. Can’t you go a day without sex?”

“No,” Sebastian snaps, following the word with a feline-like hiss. “No, I can’t. Not where you’re concerned. I need you – I need to be in you - all the time.”

“Wow…” Kurt giggles when Sebastian starts licking a spot on his neck that Sebastian knows is ticklish, “I don’t know whether to feel flattered by that or frightened.”

“How about horny?” Sebastian asks, dislodging Kurt from the tree to another shower of leaves, picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder. “Let’s go with horny.” Kurt struggles with the awkward position and Sebastian swats him on the ass to stop him. He smiles when Kurt yelps, and smacks him again.

“Sebastian Smythe!” Kurt groans, smacking his Neanderthal boyfriend on the back with the palm of his hand to get Sebastian to put him down. “You put me down this instant or…ouch!” Kurt screams out when Sebastian keeps spanking him.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian yells. “I can’t hear you over the sound of me smackin’ yo’ ass!”

Kurt chuckles as the spanking continues, kicking his legs in a show of disapproval. But the more Sebastian does it, the less Kurt cares; he’s not struggling that hard anyway. Spanking is kind of a kink for Kurt…and Sebastian knows that, too.

Sebastian races Kurt to their tent and carries him inside. Dropping Kurt down on their air mattress, Sebastian starts tearing off the rest of his and Kurt’s soaked clothes.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kurt says, stopping Sebastian short of yanking off his jeans. “Grab me a towel?”

“Why?” Sebastian asks, slapping at Kurt’s hands to get him to let go.

“Because I’m still carrying the weight of the Colorado River on my skin, and I don’t want to catch pneumonia. _Somebody_ has to look after their health.”

“Urrrrgh! Fine.” Sebastian climbs off Kurt’s body and sprints from the tent wearing only his boxer-briefs, hurrying his way back to his pack in search of his towel. He sees the blue blob that was once his retro Doors _Live at the Matrix_ t-shirt lying where he left it, which he swears was next to his towel, but the towel seems to have gone. He lifts up his pack to look underneath, then spins in a circle, scanning around to see if it somehow blew off his bag, but he can’t find the winter white towel anywhere.

“Babe?” Sebastian calls out, double-checking the same spots. “Are you sure you didn’t grab it?”

Kurt pokes his head out of the tent flap.

“And when would I have done that? When you were carrying me over your shoulder, or when you were spanking me?”

“Ugh, never mind,” Sebastian grumbles, reaching into his pack and grabbing another towel. “I must have dropped it somewhere…”

The clouds drift in front of the sun, darkening the sky and casting the entire campsite in a grey shadow as Sebastian rushes back to the tent, idly itching the scratch on his arm along the way. A rustle of leaves follows on his heels, nearly wrapping around his ankles, but Sebastian ducks into the tent and zips up the flap. The tiny typhoon of leaves eddies at the entrance, batting against the outer walls, but the two men giggling inside pay it no mind. Zippered up safely inside, there are no more thoughts of rivers or canoes or bears or spooky woods…or the persistent wind that taps endlessly on the wall of their tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for anxiety, talk about the cut on Sebastian's arm, and Sebastian being kind of a dick during sex.

_4:00 p.m. – 4:59 p.m._

"So, have you ever been defiled outdoors?" Sebastian asks, openly watching his cock slide slowly into Kurt's waiting entrance.

"Not yet," Kurt replies as he spreads his legs wide and opens up for his boyfriend, eyes closed with head thrown back, biting his lower lip as he feels Sebastian inch forward. Kurt breathes deeply as he adjusts to the stretch, the slight burn, muscles still on lockdown because of a chill inside his muscles he can't seem to shun. "But you seem to be doing a good job so far."

With shallow thrusts that take Sebastian farther and deeper, Kurt envelops Sebastian completely, until his body is full and begging for Sebastian to move. He feels Sebastian's hands leave his body and waits for his touch – but it doesn't come. He hears a soft _scratch, scratch, scratch_ noise from somewhere nearby and raises an eyelid. Kurt catches Sebastian as he slides warm hands – significantly warmer than Kurt's skin - under his knees, lifting Kurt's legs and bringing them up to rest against his chest, ankles at his shoulders.

Then Sebastian stops…and he stares straight ahead.

"Is…is everything alright, honey?" Kurt asks. Sebastian's glassy eyes look off into the blank space of the tent, the expression on his face – his body language overall – nervous, uncomfortable. It doesn't fill Kurt with too much confidence when Sebastian swallows hard. "Sebastian?" Kurt whispers, his voice unsteady, feeling vulnerable in the position he's in – lying on his back with Sebastian holding on to his legs. Sebastian's eyes dart down at Kurt, but then quickly back up. "Sebastian? What is it?"

There's a breath of silence, and both men stay still, locked in place – Sebastian watching and Kurt waiting. A whistle of wind bats against the tent, making Sebastian jump, but it dies down, and he relaxes.

"Nothing," Sebastian says, his voice strained. "I thought…" another hard swallow as he shakes his head, "nothing…" He sighs heavily and then smirks down at Kurt, holding his legs tight.

"What, nothing?" Kurt asks. "You went white for a second. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sebastian repeats, and Kurt knows that the next words out of his mouth are going to be dismissive at best. "For a second, I thought I saw something, but it was nothing."

"Saw something!?" Kurt cranes his head, bending his neck at an almost 90 degree angle to try and see outside, but the tent wall is blue and translucent, which means all Sebastian really saw was the _shadow_ of something – something that scared him, even if only a little. "Like what?"

"I thought it might be a bear," Sebastian says, way more at ease with the idea than Kurt could ever possibly be.

"A…a bear!?" Kurt nearly screams, but catches himself, not really wanting to attract the attention of a bear if one happens to be walking around their campsite.

"Calm down, princess," Sebastian says, holding Kurt's wriggling body close. "It was nothing."

"A bear is not _nothing_!" Kurt argues, attempting to turn his head again, but Sebastian pulls him back in.

"It wasn't a bear," Sebastian assures him. "If it was, you would have heard it, but you didn't, did you?"

Kurt has to think about Sebastian's question before it makes sense.

"No," he admits. "I didn't hear anything but the wind."

"See?" Sebastian smiles smugly, moving now that Kurt's body starts to become pliant. "Now, let's get back to the important stuff."

"Well, if it wasn't a bear," Kurt presses, "what could it have been?"

Sebastian stops with a sigh, letting go of Kurt's left leg to scratch his right arm. "A shadow from one of the trees. Or the ranger checking out the campsite, making sure we're alright. But whatever I thought it was, I don't see anything now, so can we forget about it and get back to having sex?"

Kurt isn't convinced. He doesn't have a good feeling about these woods…or any woods…or nature in general, for that matter. But he didn't see what Sebastian _thought_ he saw, and he didn't hear anything out of the ordinary – just the same persistent breeze off the river, and he'd better get used to that. It doesn't seem to be going anywhere soon.

"Okay," Kurt nods. That one word opens the depraved flood gates of Sebastian's mind and he attacks Kurt's body full-force. Kurt giggles at his boyfriend's sudden enthusiasm, moving his legs down Sebastian's arms to hook his knees over Sebastian's elbows, giving Kurt more leverage to lift his ass up higher.

"God, Kurt," Sebastian moans, moving in and out of Kurt's body faster. "You feel so fucking amazing, babe. You're ( _scratch, scratch_ )…"

Kurt watches Sebastian scratch his arm and raises an eyebrow.

Kurt didn't notice if Sebastian had been scratching during foreplay when Sebastian had his head buried between Kurt's legs. With Kurt's cock down his boyfriend's throat, he might have been a little distracted. But Sebastian is kneeling above him, and Kurt sees every time Sebastian scratches that wound on his arm – the one that Kurt thinks may have gotten longer, but knows has gotten redder and more irritated every time Sebastian takes his nails to it.

"Sebastian," Kurt says, groaning when Sebastian speeds his pace, hitting Kurt purposefully hard but short of his target, "don't you think you should put something on that cut? You keep scratching at it, it's going to get infected."

Sebastian huffs, rolling his head on his neck, trying to concentrate on what his body feels, all the conflicting sensations, some more urgent than others.

"Kurt, ( _scratch, scratch_ ) this really isn't the time ( _scratch, scratch_ ) to discuss this."

"I might agree if you did more actual fucking than scratching." Kurt shifts under Sebastian's weight, avoiding an elbow to the cock as Sebastian changes positions to scratch again.

"I'm sorry, hun," Sebastian mumbles, rubbing his arm against Kurt's leg for friction, "but now that it's dried out, it's itchy. But to be honest, I don't think I'm scratching _that_ much." Sebastian stops pounding after a couple of strokes to scratch with Kurt glaring up at him, and Sebastian's fingers cease.

"Uh…sorry."

"Right." Kurt sighs. "Look, I'm getting a cramp, so maybe we can finish up here?"

"Wow," Sebastian says, holding Kurt's legs tight to avoid scratching, "aren't you the romantic?"

"I try," Kurt says. "Now _fuck me_."

Sebastian moves, squeezing Kurt's legs tighter and tighter, crushing his knees uncomfortably, arms twitching with Sebastian's urge to scratch. But regardless of all the fidgeting, Sebastian finds his groove in Kurt's body…which doesn't do much for Kurt, but Sebastian is definitely enjoying himself.

"God, Kurt…" Sebastian repeats, readjusting Kurt's legs, more for the friction of Kurt's leg hair against his itchy arm than anything else. "Oh my God…

"Um, Sebastian…" Kurt reaches out a hand, trying to get Sebastian to look at him, to see his loss of arousal, but Sebastian's eyelids flutter shut.

"Yes, babe," Sebastian continues, long and loud, taking advantage of being outdoors to be obscene with the volume of his voice. "That's it, Kurt…"

"Sebastian…" Kurt flails an arm to swipe at Sebastian's skin, but with Sebastian's constant squirming and shuffling, he moves just out of Kurt's reach. "Sebastian…I need…" Kurt twists, contorting to move his hips in a way that will send Sebastian's every thrust right to Kurt's hidden sweet spot, but he falls a hair short each time.

"Yes, Kurt," Sebastian says with a shudder. "Keep doing that. Yes, yes, yes…"

"Sebastian!" Kurt grunts in frustration.

"Kuurrrt!" Sebastian exclaims, his hips starting to stutter.

"SEBASTIAN, GODDAMMIT!"

_Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech_

It's an ear-splitting sound like none Kurt has ever heard before – loud, sharp, and grossly inhuman. The high-pitched wail echoes everywhere inside and out, bouncing off the tent walls, ringing through their ears till it feels like it's piercing Kurt's brain, and then fading into nothing but a rustle of leaves, which flutter down from the treetops and spatter the roof of the tent like pregnant drops of rain.

Kurt's body freezes solid and the hairs on his body prickle, sprouting like nettles all over his skin.

Sebastian doesn't stop, but his eyes open and he looks all around the tent, then at his boyfriend, bent almost in half and turning red-faced beneath him.

"Jesus Christ, Kurt!" Sebastian chuckles, apparently not as traumatized by that banshee-esque howl as Kurt is. "Was that you?"

"Um, no," Kurt answers, leaving off the _jackass_ moniker at the end of that statement even though Sebastian more than earned it. Kurt is barely able to speak - an overpowering, primal sense of warning locking his lips, coupled with the speed Sebastian is fucking him, fit to drive Kurt through the air mattress and into the tent floor, digging a ditch in the earth underneath. "That…that came from outside."

"Oh, well," Sebastian says, blowing it off, pausing a brief moment to scratch his arm against Kurt's leg, "it was probably just a screech owl. I always thought you two bore a startling resemblance."

"Ha…ha…" Kurt deadpans, trying to catch his breath between thrusts that are becoming painful without coming anywhere close to erotic for Kurt. "Sebastian, could you…maybe just…"

"Oh, Kurt," Sebastian moans, managing to alternate between scratching his arm and driving his cock into Kurt's body without much pause in between, "I think…I'm cumming…I'm cumming…oh God…"

"Well, I'm not," Kurt whines, knowing that it's all downhill from here if he doesn't manage to change angles or do something so he can cum, too. "So can you please…"

But it's too late. Kurt has had sex with Sebastian enough times to know when he's going to blow. He knows Sebastian's 'o' face, knows how his body reacts, how his hands clench and his right foot repeatedly and sporadically hits the floor. Sebastian cums, but despite all his moaning, his _Oh Kurt_ and _Oh God_ -ing, he doesn't orgasm as hard as usual. The whole act is anticlimactic, for Kurt especially, who is left frustrated and wanting on an ice-cold air mattress with his legs in the air. Too quickly and way out-of-character for Sebastian (who usually likes to bask in the afterglow of his sexual prowess with his cock stuffed inside his boyfriend's ass), he drops Kurt's legs and pulls out, sitting on his heels and scratching at his arm like he's trying to tear it off.

"God," Sebastian says, digging into the skin with his blunt nails in an alarming manner. "I didn't think I was going to last long enough to finish. This is driving me _crazy_."

"At least _you_ finished," Kurt gripes, sitting up and grabbing Sebastian's arm, covering the wound with his hands to keep it safe from Sebastian's destructive nails. "Don't you think that maybe you shouldn't be scratching this? You're just going to make it worse."

"Nngh!" Sebastian grunts, struggling to free his arm from Kurt's grasp. Sebastian twists back and forth, throwing Kurt left and right like a ragdoll. "Let go, you fucking parasite!" Sebastian laughs. "You know, you're freakishly strong! Let go! Let go!" Kurt manages to hold on but Sebastian slips his arm out far enough to expose the scratch, then plops down on his side and rubs his arm against the velour top of the air mattress.

"I give up," Kurt sighs, abandoning his efforts and crawling away to the far side of the mattress, leaving his boyfriend to scratch the skin off his arm.

"Don't be an old fuddy-duddy," Sebastian says, rubbing down the length of the mattress like a Golden Retriever with a bur in its ear.

"Fuck you," Kurt bites, lying on his back and wrapping his fingers around his half-hard cock. "I'm going to masturbate and then go to bed."

"Noooo," Sebastian whines, rubbing a trail Kurt's way. "You can't go to bed _now_. The sun hasn't even set yet."

"Yeah, well," Kurt says, stroking slowly, shutting his eyes to focus on the movement of his hand, "between our swim in the fucking freezing river, your creepy possible Sasquatch sighting, and the disappointing sex of a few minutes ago, I think I'd rather be asleep."

"You'd really rather be asleep than stay up all night with me?" Sebastian asks, half-playful, half-genuinely-hurt, reclining beside Kurt's body to watch him jerk-off. Sebastian has a fascination with the way Kurt touches himself, wholly in love with Kurt's hands and his technique – his long fingers, his smooth palm, his carefully calculated strokes and subtle twists. It takes Sebastian's mind off of the scratch on his arm for a while – and the strange shadow he saw lurking around outside.

At least, he thought he saw it. His head has been pounding something fierce since they got out of the river. Adrenaline overload, more than likely, along with some dehydration. A bottle or two of water and he should be fine. Sebastian decides not to mention it to Kurt. No need to worry him with those details if he's going to flip his shit over an insignificant scratch.

Kurt gasps and Sebastian feels a twinge of shame, knowing he epically failed in the orgasm department.

"Wh-what did you have in mind?" Kurt asks in a breathy voice, his hips bucking up against the movement of his hand.

"Let's go do the Boy Scout thing, hmm?" Sebastian says, running his fingertips down Kurt's chest, circling his nipples lightly, then bending to lick over the one closest.

"We're going to… _mmm_ …discriminate against homosexuals and… _aaah_ …help some old people cross the street?" Kurt snarks with eyebrow raised.

"No," Sebastian says, sucking on Kurt's nipple till he gasps louder. "Let's make s'mores, roast weenies, sing songs. Let's be obnoxious and childish and immature and have fun." Sebastian has something else in mind, something he needs Kurt in a better mood to pull off. His eyes flick subconsciously to where his wet jeans lay discarded in a pile, needing to know that his secret is safe.

"What we were doing a…a…a second ago wasn't fun?" Kurt asks sarcastically, hand stroking faster. "It seems like _you_ got a big kick out of it."

Sebastian grabs Kurt's free hand by the wrist and holds it above his head, kissing him hard. His tongue slides inside Kurt's mouth, mimicking the movement of his hand, coaxing Kurt to cum.

"It was fun," Sebastian whispers, massaging Kurt's thigh, "and we can definitely do that again later…"

"Ooo, goody. I can't…I can't wait," Kurt mutters, shivering when Sebastian replaces Kurt's hand with his own, and starts marking up Kurt's neck with gentle nips.

" _Buuuut_ ," Sebastian continues against Kurt's skin, "we should really start our campfire before it gets too dark. Setting up a fire by flashlight is not fun, and we're not going to have much of a moon out there to help us."

"I…I…" Kurt starts to argue, but the orgasm he'd been working toward steals the argument right from his throat. Intense, mind-blurring pleasure washes over him in waves, each one squeezing the breath from his lungs. The first few waves over, it hits him again harder when he feels Sebastian's hot, silky tongue cleaning the cum off his stomach, and an errant spurt gets Sebastian right across the cheek. Reeling and breathless, Kurt doubles over with laughter when Sebastian hovers over and glares at him, a single rope of white dripping down his cheek. Kurt screws up his face, peering into Sebastian's unamused eyes. In his eyes, Kurt sees something – something Sebastian isn't telling him. But as much as he would like to torture and interrogate his boyfriend for information, his stomach growls, twisting inside out in its need for sustenance. After everything they've been through in one afternoon, they have to eat.

There's no going to bed for Kurt now.

Besides, after that orgasm, Kurt is feeling generous. He might be willing to give Sebastian a second chance at sex after dinner.

"Fine," Kurt says, "let's go make a campfire in the spooky woods and eat some unhealthy and highly processed junk food." Sebastian rolls his eyes, starting to scratch his arm again, and Kurt shakes his head. He sits up, pushing Sebastian aside and heading for his bag in the corner of the tent. He opens the front pocket, roots around with his hand, and pulls out a bunch of tubes and jars, examining each one in the scant bit of sunlight illuminating the walls. "But take this and _use_ it." He tosses a red tube of hydrocortisone to Sebastian.

"Yes, _mom_ ," Sebastian says, grabbing the tube and looking at it with an unimpressed gaze.

"What _mom_? You barely have any skin left on that arm and you have the nerve to be an asshole?" Kurt snaps, blissful orgasm-related euphoria gone. "You know, _you_ dragged me out to the Godforsaken middle-of-nowhere. I'm not the one who knows how to survive in the wilderness. We could get seriously hurt out here. I wish you would take things a little more seriously."

"I don't need to," Sebastian says, opening the tube and squeezing out some thick white ointment into his palm. "I have you to be a frickin' killjoy and worry about all the dull, unimportant shit." Sebastian looks over at his jeans and smiles. "I'll be the fun, spontaneous one."


	3. Chapter 3

_5:00 p.m. – 5:59 p.m._

Kurt sits in his reclining camping chair, nibbling on a Milky Way Dark while he watches his hunter-gatherer boyfriend construct a fire ring, getting it ready to cook their dinner. Kurt tilts his head to one side and stares with rapt enjoyment at his boyfriend’s ass as Sebastian bends over to clear away a patch of leaves and arboreal debris. Sebastian had to throw on his sweats since it started to get cool outside and his jeans were still soaked. These sweats in particular – ratty, loose, with a bunch of tiny pinprick holes, the color a splotchy, off-shade of pink when they used to be bright red, a victim of over-washing and an accident involving Formula 409 - are the pair he normally wears to sleep in. They never leave the house for obvious reasons, and because every time Sebastian bends over, they creep over the swell of his butt, exposing his ass crack.

That’s the main reason Kurt packed them. If he was going to be forced to live without basic comforts and amenities, Sebastian had to wear what Kurt fondly calls his _crack pants_.

Sebastian struggles against gravity, holding on with one hand to the stretched-out elastic waistband, keeping his sweats from sliding to his knees as he lines up large stones in a circle with the other.

“Um, Bas,” Kurt mumbles around a mouth full of dark chocolate and caramel, pausing every few words to work sticky goop off his teeth with his tongue, “your circle ( _smack…shluck_ ) is a little ( _sluuurp_!) crooked.”

Sebastian stands up straight to look at it, muttering curses under his breath. As the wind shifts, Kurt catches something about _princess_ , _ass_ , and _frigid bitch_. He smirks. It’s a testament to their relationship that Kurt no longer takes any offense to insults vaguely directed his way.

Sebastian nudges one rock an inch toward the center with his toe, then tamps it angrily into place.

“Better?” Sebastian hisses, reaching over to rub his itchy arm, honoring a compromise he made with Kurt by not scratching it. Rubbing – fine. Rubbing ointment on it – better. But no scratching.

“Much,” Kurt says, taking another huge bite of his chocolate bar. Sebastian shoots Kurt an evil glare as he stomps off to the outskirts of their campsite to gather branches and twigs for the fire.

“You know,” Sebastian grumbles, becoming breathless as he continually bends over, picking up one stick, tossing one aside, nitpicking over their fuel, “this might go faster if you actually helped.”

“I am helping. I’m supervising,” Kurt says, sucking chocolate from his fingertips one at a time and swallowing. “Did you miss the part where I pointed out the crooked circle?”

Sebastian looks at him, livid, and Kurt nods with a satisfied smile, as if Sebastian’s angry expression is some kind of affirmative answer.

“There you go. You’re welcome,” Kurt teases, but no more after that when he notices how tired Sebastian seems. Sebastian Andrew Smythe doesn’t get tired. Kurt has seen Sebastian run marathons after nights of binge drinking and zero sleep, and still place in the top five. He’s seen Sebastian play back-to-back lacrosse scrimmages, then go out bowling afterward. Sebastian even participated in a twelve-hour charity football tournament to benefit breast cancer research. He was one of only six players who didn’t drop from exhaustion and need to switch out, and of those six, Sebastian was the only one who drove himself home. Sebastian is a prime specimen of human athleticism. No, Sebastian doesn’t tire easily. He has more endurance than the Energizer bunny. Bending over to gather thin sticks of firewood and balling up newspaper for kindling should not have Kurt’s boyfriend heavy lidded, swaying at the knees, threatening to keel over in the dirt. Kurt almost offers to help when he sees Sebastian stumble, but as he stands from his seat, Sebastian puts up a hand to stop him, so put off by Kurt’s mocking that he’d rather stubbornly slog on than accept any assistance.

Kurt shrugs nonchalantly and sits back down, but something about Sebastian’s growing fatigue has Kurt concerned. Kurt slips back into his façade of smug sloth, but he keeps an extra close eye on Sebastian as he works, waiting to jump in if Sebastian actually does pass out and falls into the fire that he’s building.

Sebastian works in silence, forming the sticks into a pyramid over the wadded up newspaper, intertwining them at the top to form a tent that won’t fall over in the breeze. The wind eddies through the camp, bringing with it a whistle reminiscent of the unsettling screech from before. It sounds, thankfully, farther away, but still sends a chill spiraling up Kurt’s spine. He really wishes Sebastian would just give in and let them leave, but Kurt doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t want to start a fight. Being wet and tired, and with the scratch on his arm inflamed, Sebastian seems to be on his last nerve. Kurt doesn’t want to be the one to clip it, or he might find himself walking back to his Navigator alone in the dark.

The sun sets quickly, the sky overhead going from bright and blue to nearly pitch black with almost no change in between, as if the sun simply dropped out of the sky, but Sebastian manages to get the fire lit before it disappears behind the horizon. When he has the fire blazing steadily with no fear of going out, Kurt decides to take over. He stands from his chair, intent on handling the food, giving Sebastian a stern glare when he opens his mouth to object. Kurt doesn’t speak, darting his eyes toward the second reclining chair on the opposite side of the fire ring. Sebastian raises his arms in defeat, shuffling off, barely picking up his feet when he walks over to it.

Sebastian had already untied and lowered their bag of food from the tree, the contents previously packed in ice so they wouldn’t sour. Kurt unpacks the camping pots and pans, and starts preparing dinner. He might not know camping, but he knows cooking, and seeing as he once made a mini classic cheese soufflé over a Bunsen burner during a two-hour chemistry lecture his senior year of high school, he thinks he has things pretty much covered here. Besides, their fare is ridiculously limited – basically the kind of pre-packaged, pre-processed, preservative laden food that an eight-year-old with access to a microwave can whip up in the space of five minutes. Kurt looks at the bright yellow plastic packaging and the various words ending in “-ate” on the ingredients label, and feels his stomach twist into a knot. He knows he’s going to end up bloated and constipated by the time they reach civilization again.

Kurt tries not to think about it. As he sets various items to sear over the fire, he thinks about Sebastian instead, sinking into his camping chair, head tilted back, face looking up at the sky, his lips clamped into a hard, thin line, as if he’s stopping himself from vomiting. Sebastian is staring with such a focused look on his face that if Kurt didn’t know better, he would think Sebastian was praying.

Probably for death at this point. Kurt frowns. The man doesn’t look healthy.

But aside from whatever virus Sebastian denies is ravaging his system at the moment, Kurt has never seen Sebastian as competent as he has been out in this wilderness - paddling a canoe, pitching a tent, building a fire with his own two hands. As much as Kurt nags at Sebastian about him not taking enough responsibility, the outdoors is definitely one of his elements. Everything he does, he does effortlessly.

“Where the fuck’s the food?” Sebastian calls out, his voice shaky with an abnormal slur that wasn’t there a minute ago.

_Even being an asshole comes effortlessly, regardless of the state of his health._

“Hold on, hold on,” Kurt says, trying not to let the change in Sebastian’s voice bother him. _He’s fine. He’s tired and he’s a little under-the-weather. But Sebastian’s not an idiot. If something were seriously wrong, he’d do something about it. He’d tell me._

Kurt hopes he would.

“You have _one job_ , Kurt,” Sebastian says, eyes still on the sky. “Well, two if you count lying on your back with your legs in the air.”

“Stop your bitchin’ or I’ll roll your ass back in the river,” Kurt says, walking over to his boyfriend and dropping a plate of hot food (if he can call it _food_ ) on Sebastian’s crotch. Sebastian sits up quick and grabs it before it slips off his lap and onto the dirt, swatting Kurt on the ass as he walks away.

 _That’s right_ , Kurt thinks. _See? He’s feeling better already._

He thinks it, but he doesn’t quite believe himself.

Dinner is quiet. No conversation. No sarcastic remarks. Nothing but nature sounds and Kurt’s own breathing, but that’s not bad. It’s just different. Growing up in suburban Ohio, it gets really quiet at night, but New York is never quiet, and he’s gotten used to it. Whether he’s at their apartment – more of a penthouse, really, with a city view – or working at _Vogue_ , there never seems to be a lull in the noise. If it’s not the cars, it’s the helicopters, or the sirens, or the trains, or people, people, people everywhere. But here, there’s none of that. The fire pops and snaps and crackles, an owl hoots, the river nearby echoes like a distant shower of rain, and of course, the wind – they can’t seem to escape the wind. This spot is so serene. Erase the fear of a horrible, vicious creature lurking in the bushes, waiting to devour them, and there’s nothing wrong with this. Kurt can’t deny that he would be more comfortable at a hotel with air conditioning and indoor plumbing, but he could get used to this. There is something to be said for the solitary beauty of the outdoors – when you’re not fighting the rapids for your life and nothing flying around is biting you.

Kurt might be a mechanic’s son, and he might be willing to get dirty when the situation calls for it, but he was not made for ‘roughing it’.

In that regard, Kurt can’t help being impressed by Sebastian. He knows Sebastian used to go camping with his dad. He’d mentioned it once or twice, but didn’t really go into it any more than, “My dad and I used to go camping on the weekends.” Kurt and his father had gone camping, too – in a two-person tent his father set up in their backyard. The first night they tried it out, something buzzed next to Kurt’s ear, and they switched to camping on the living room floor. But Sebastian – he’s on a whole other level. Even with that scratch on his arm irritating him and a cold setting in, Sebastian is a survivor. Kurt kind of envies him for that.

Kurt remembers having a meltdown when the market within a block of their apartment stopped selling organic free-range eggs. He doesn’t think he’d be able to make it out here overnight if he had to do this on his own.

Then again, Kurt wouldn’t have picked a camping trip for his birthday. And he never thought in a million years that Sebastian would pick camping for _his_ birthday vacation, either. Sebastian had been talking for months about a hot springs resort he wanted to go to out in California. Kurt had looked it up online and gotten excited ahead of time – naturally heated mineral springs, couples mud soaks, floatation tanks, private patios with spectacular views, in-room saunas and hot tubs, nightcaps under a sky full of stars. It seemed ideal. It would have been perfect. Kurt had plans for this trip. He had hoped that if he could get Sebastian into a more sensual locale than Midtown Manhattan, he might pop the question.

Considering the magical milieu of that gorgeous hot springs paradise, Kurt was certain Sebastian had the same idea.

Kurt grimaces with disgust as Sebastian lets loose with the longest, wettest burp he has ever heard.

Nope. This probably wasn’t going to be the trip.

“God,” Sebastian says, dropping his plate on the ground by his feet, the food on it picked apart with one or two bites taken. “Don’t we have anything _other_ than hot dogs and beans for dinner?”

Kurt looks up from his own plate, his face so twisted with disgust for the meal he’s forcing himself to eat that he nearly stands up and throws the plate at his boyfriend.

“No,” Kurt replies sharply. “We don’t. _You_ packed the food. _You_ wouldn’t let me help. Every time I tried to add something healthy, _you_ took it out. Because of _you_ , we literally have nothing for the whole weekend but hot dogs and beans!”

“Well, what made you think that was a bright idea?” Sebastian says. “You didn’t bring a Power Bar or anything?”

Kurt glares at Sebastian with narrowing eyelids and says, “No,” the presence of his last three remaining Milky Way bars remaining a spiteful secret.

“I don’t have an appetite for hot dogs and beans,” Sebastian grumbles, kicking his plate away.

“Then what do you expect to eat?” Kurt asks in frustration, watching Sebastian attack the scratch on his arm again, not even trying to hide it when he breaks their truce and starts to rake at it with his nails. Kurt’s temper cools. Whatever’s going on with Sebastian and this scratch, it’s getting worse, and they still have a couple more days up there in the middle of woodland hell. “You have to eat something, Bas. You’re looking…” _Sickly? Sweaty? Anemic?_ _All three apply._ “…pale.”

“I don’t feel like eating,” Sebastian grumbles, looking down at the plate, repulsed, and giving it a kick. “I have a _much_ better idea.” Sebastian leans forward in his chair, the firelight dancing in front of him throwing shadows on his face, making his eyes deeper-set and sinister, the whites and the irises going black together until they appear to be voids in his head.

“Really?” Kurt says, not liking the way Sebastian’s normally handsome face looks in this light. “And…and what’s that?”

Sebastian claps his hands together, a renewed vigor in his voice as he stares at Kurt and grins.

“Ghost story time.”


	4. Chapter 4

_6:00 – 6:59 p.m._

From across the river, a coyote howls, and Kurt jumps, kneeing the plate on his lap. Kurt fumbles to catch it, but it continuously slips from his fingers. It lands face down, dumping its contents onto the ground. Not a big loss, in Kurt’s opinion. Sebastian, watching from across the fire, bends over laughing, which turns into coughing, as he struggles to catch his breath.

Kurt doesn’t like the sound of Sebastian’s cough – raspy and wet, like water is collecting in his throat with every spasmodic burst and trying to choke him - but that concern gets overshadowed by the thought of how good one of his hidden Milky Ways is going to taste after his asshole boyfriend falls asleep.

“Really?” Kurt asks unamused, wiping bean juice off his hands with his napkin. “A ghost story? Isn’t that a little _cliché_?”

“Ah, but this isn’t just _any_ ghost story,” Sebastian replies, folding his hands in his lap. “This story happens to be absolutely and 100% true.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “Did the Easter Bunny tell it to you?” Sebastian chuckles, but it sounds worse than his cough. “Come on, Bas. You know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“You told me you don’t believe in God,” Sebastian points out with a finger raised. “You never said you don’t believe in ghosts.”

Another eye roll. “It’s pretty much the same thing.”

“Nu-uh. God isn’t real, but ghosts are,” Sebastian argues. “Though to be fair, this is more of a monster story…”

“A-ha!” Kurt exclaims in triumph.

“But to make it even better…” Sebastian continues, voice going husky as he slides forward in his chair, “it’s a story local to _this_ area.”

The coyote howls again, and Kurt jumps again, but not as skittishly as before, his fingers wrapped tight around the napkin in his hands helping keep him in his seat.

“Ugh,” Kurt groans, dismissing his unease. “You’re actually going to make me listen to this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says with a nod. He looks better for a moment, not as miserably sick as he’s been for the past hour, so Kurt can’t say no.

“Alright,” he concedes, relaxing back in his chair, “but if this story starts with the phrase _Native Americans have a legend_ , I’m going to have to stop you right there, because that’s insulting and racist.”

Sebastian laughs darkly, that damned coyote howls, and Kurt wishes they could be telling this story anywhere else.

Kurt may not buy into ghosts and goblins, but he also has an overactive imagination. After a midnight showing of The Blaire Witch Project, he swore he saw dolls made out of twigs hanging out of trees for weeks.

Turned out they were just twigs.

“Actually this story comes from an even less reliable source,” Sebastian says, wringing his hands together with anticipation.

“Yeah?” Kurt scoffs. “And what’s that? Wikipedia?”

“Nope.” Sebastian’s eyes stay locked on Kurt, but his voice changes, becomes thin for a split-second. “My dad. It’s a story from way back when he used to come up here camping with _his_ dad.”

Kurt sits up slowly, so stunned by Sebastian’s statement that a playing card flicked in his direction could have knocked him over. A three-headed dog could have leapt out of the trees and attacked them, and Kurt wouldn’t have been more surprised than he was at that moment.

Sebastian’s dad is a private man. Mostly self-made, with an empire that, in this day and age, he can control entirely by computer, he rarely leaves the Smythe Family Estate. Kurt has met Sebastian’s dad on numerous occasions. He isn’t the warmest man in the world, but he’s decent, kind, and tolerant of his son’s wants and desires. Part of the generation of empty-nesters leaving their houses in search of adventure – bungee jumping, extreme sports, skydiving, parasailing, all as a defense against maturity (heck, even Kurt’s dad gave inline skating a try) - Sebastian’s dad, Andrew Smythe, is the epitome of the word _reserved_. He doesn’t do anything frivolous, has no hobbies outside work, nothing that he does _just for fun_. He doesn’t travel, doesn’t go on vacation, though he has the money to circle the world multiple times if he wanted. Kurt can’t ever remember hearing Sebastian’s father laugh or see him smile. He is as straight-laced as they come.

Sebastian’s grandfather, Bernard, is a different story. Or he was. He died before Kurt came into Sebastian’s life. But from comments Kurt had heard around the Smythe Estate, things brought up in passing as inside jokes (mostly by Sebastian’s mom and his great-aunt, may she rest in peace), Bernard Smythe had been certifiable from about the time his only son was born. Kurt often felt that contributed to Andrew Smythe’s guarded behavior, his disaffected coldness at first blush. The poor man had seen some things in his life - things that he shouldn’t have - though to Kurt’s knowledge, he made it a point not to talk about them, not to anyone.

When would he have had a reason to tell _this_ story to Sebastian?

“Okay,” Kurt says, his curiosity seriously and completely piqued, “tell me the big _scary_ story.”

“Alright.” Sebastian smirks. “But remember when you’re clinging to me late at night, shaking like a leaf, _you_ asked for it.”

Kurt drops his head back dramatically since rolling his eyes no longer suffices. “I’ll remember. I’ve been warned.”

“Okay.” Sebastian shifts in his seat, getting into better position to tell his story, a glimmer of excitement visible in his eyes. “This happened when my dad was about ten-years-old, so probably the seventies? Anyway, the point is my grandpa was considered still fairly sane back then, so grandma let him take my dad hunting and fishing on the weekends during the summer. And they used to come here, to this very spot on the river.”

Kurt kinks an eyebrow up.

“Really?” he says sarcastically. “This _very_ spot?”

“Yeah, well, give or take a few miles,” Sebastian says, “but yes.” He points to the ground. “Right here.”

“And how do you know it’s this…very spot?” Kurt asks, pointing to the ground, mocking his boyfriend.

Sebastian shakes off Kurt’s ridicule. “Because what I’m about to tell you scared my father so bad he remembers every inch of this river, like it’s written on the back of his hand.”

Kurt wants to blow that off as exaggeration on Sebastian’s part, and he would, if Sebastian’s dad wasn’t involved. Andrew Smythe isn’t the sort of man you disbelieve. Even second hand, he can be taken at his word.

“My grandfather and my dad came up here one weekend, the way they usually did, but this one time they brought a friend of my grandfather’s and his son. Well, he said it was a friend, but I think it was really, like, a gardener or something.”

Kurt furrows his brow. “Why do you say that?”

“Because the man was Guatemalan, and my grandfather was one hell of a bigot,” Sebastian explains. “He wouldn’t have been friends with anyone who wasn’t Caucasian straight down to his blood. And the way my dad remembers it, this _friend_ carried most of their heavy gear up here, so he probably invited the poor bastard on the understanding that he was going to play pack mule or something. Anyway, so they get up here, they set up camp, the men take their boys fishing, all is well, but strange things start happening. Well, the guy seems to think they’re strange. Grandpa doesn’t really care.”

A breeze weeds in between Kurt’s legs and around his knees, and he crosses them at the ankles, one foot over the other.

“Like…what kind of things?”

“Nothing really,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “To be quite honest, if I had been in my grandpa’s shoes and, you know, not a total asshole, I probably would have thought the guy was over-reacting.”

Kurt nods, choosing to overlook the _not a total asshole_ comment, putting a perfect jab on the back burner. “But…but like, _what_ exactly?”

“He said that the wind felt strange,” Sebastian says, “and that the birds sounded nervous. He said that the water in the river was too cold for that time of year. Vague things, things that usually come from a lifetime of growing up with the fear of God and other contrary superstitions.”

Kurt’s left arm goes numb. The thing about the birds sounding nervous and the water being too cold sounds like nonsense, but the wind…

The wind has felt strange to Kurt all day long.

“Even my dad was getting tired of it,” Sebastian says, unaware of Kurt’s connection to his tale. “He didn’t believe the man either, and his constant complaining was getting on his nerves. Until they saw the tracks.”

Kurt starts to rub his numb arm, trying to bring the feeling back with his shaking hand. “Wh-what tracks?”

“Now this is where stories differ,” Sebastian says, talking more with his hands. "Apparently my grandpa claimed they were bear tracks, according to my dad. _Huge_ bear tracks, but just bear tracks. But my father saw them, and he said there was no way they could belong to a bear. He said they looked like two clawed feet walking on both sides of something being dragged. Something _big_. Like a body. He even took pictures.”

“Well, did you see the pictures?” Kurt asks, nearly jumping from his seat, as if Sebastian might have the pictures and is teasing Kurt with them.

“Nope,” Sebastian says. “When my dad tried to have the roll developed, they came out completely black.”

“Yeah, well, what did he have?” Kurt asks, disappointed. “A 110 camera? My mom had one of those. She said that if you exposed even an inch of that film to a speck of sunlight the whole roll was trashed.”

“No,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. “The rest of the pictures came out fine. But the three photos he took of the tracks, smack dab in the middle of the roll, were completely black.”

Another howl, another gust of wind, stronger, kicking up leaves and dirt, stirring up the fire, and Kurt’s decided he’s had enough stories. He just wants to stop and move on to something else, like campfire songs, or more sex, even disappointing sex, if it means they can hide inside the tent, zip it up, and end this story now.

“Seb…” He begs, but Sebastian puts up both hands.

“Wait, wait, wait. This is where it gets really fucked up,” Sebastian says with way too much delight. “Night time comes, and there’s no moon.” Sebastian stops - pausing, Kurt figures, for effect, but whatever he’s going for, Kurt doesn’t quite get it.

“So,” Kurt says. “How is that unusual? There’s barely any moon out tonight.”

“Yeah, except there was supposed to be a _full_ moon,” Sebastian says with a creepy grin. “They saw glimpses of it during the day. But the sun set…” Sebastian snaps his fingers. “And no moon. And no matter where they went – over by the river, up on the rocks, my dad even climbed a tree – they couldn’t see it. So this other guy, he’s had enough by now. He pretty much starts going nuts. He’s yelling in Guatemalan, which my grandfather doesn’t understand, and his poor boy is trying to translate, but they’re only catching bits and pieces because the kid’s crying so hard. My grandpa tries to get the man to shut up and ends up pushing him. They get into a fight, and the man punches my grandpa in the face, knocks him out cold. Then he takes his kid and leaves. Just splits and leaves my dad alone to take care of my grandpa, passed out in the dirt.”

A bit of Kurt’s fear siphons away as worry for Sebastian’s dad takes over.

“What did he do?”

“They had the tent set up, but no one had built a fire, and my dad, he didn’t know how to make one. He had no food because they were supposed to be super-roughing it, so they were only going to eat stuff they caught. They had caught a ton of fish, but my dad couldn’t cook it without a fire. So he grabs a stick and my grandpa’s lighter, he lights the stick on fire, and tries to cook the fish that way, scales and all.” Sebastian’s voice drops suddenly. “That’s when he hears it.”

“What?” Kurt asks, hands slapping nervously against his knees. “Hears what?”

“A rustling in the bushes,” Sebastian says in a hushed voice. “My dad thinks it’s a bear, and that it’s got to be after the fish. So he drops the stick, leaves it smoldering, and he starts dragging my grandpa by the arms as fast as he can for the tent, thinking that if he can get the two of them inside, they’ll be safe.”

Kurt hiccups, since that’s basically his plan.

“My dad gets grandpa to the tent, but then everything goes wrong. He can’t get grandpa inside at first, and then when they’re inside, he can’t get the flap zippered up. He hears the rustling in the bushes get louder, he can see the bushes shaking all around him, and then _snap_! The zipper breaks in his hands. The wind blows, forcing the flaps open and suddenly, whatever’s in the bushes walks out into the open.”

The last part he says in a whisper, but the wind Kurt has started to hate picks up and carries Sebastian’s words to his ears.

“Dad manages to grab hold of the flaps and he holds them down. He’s peeking through a crack in the material, waiting to see the bear take the fish and leave. He’s kind of chanting it in his head. _Take the fish and leave, take the fish and leave. Please, God. Take the fish and leave._ But what comes out of the bushes is not a bear.”

“What is it?” Kurt asks, but he almost doesn’t want to know what it is, because he feels that it’s watching them, listening to Sebastian tell his story.

“To this day, my dad doesn’t know for sure. He could only see it with his night vision, which wasn’t that sharp considering the wind blowing dirt in his eyes and him trying to keep the tent flaps closed. But he said it was big - bigger than any living thing he’d ever seen close up - and dark, but not hairy. He said it walked on all fours like a lizard dragging an enormous tail behind it, but as it approached the fish, it stood up on its hind legs like a man. It had a huge mouth full of teeth - rows of them, its mouth so full of them it couldn’t close completely, making it look like it had a permanent smile. And in the center of its face, it had one huge eye, except it didn’t look reptilian. It looked human.” Sebastian’s description of the creature is so vivid, Kurt sees it right away, pictures it walking through their camp, searching for food – or maybe for them. Maybe it makes a screeching noise like an owl, and hides up in the trees. Kurt’s afraid to ask. “It starts eating the fish,” Sebastian continues, “and when it’s finished, it looks like it’s going to leave, but a hard wind blows, and the flap of the tent flies out of my dad’s hand. The thing spins around…and sees him. It starts barreling toward him, but the stick my dad left had been smoking in the dried leaves. It starts a fire, and for some reason, that frightens the thing away.”

Kurt looks at the campfire and changes his mind. Fuck going back to the tent. Kurt’s going to stay right here until sunrise.

“How did they get out of there?” Kurt asks. “If your grandpa was knocked out and the camp was on fire?”

“A ranger saw the smoke and called the fire department. They came and rescued my dad and my grandpa. My dad said the rescuers questioned him about the animal he saw, but he told they straight out that he saw a bear. He figured no one would believe him. He said he barely believed himself. When my grandpa came to in the hospital, he was furious. Said he was going to find that asshole and have him sent back to Guatemala in pieces – not for putting his son in danger, mind you, but for punching him in the face after he’d been _so gracious_.”

Kurt tries to swallow his revulsion for the man, but his mouth is dry – downright arid.

“What happened to the Guatemalan man and his son?” he asks. “I mean, did they make it out of the woods alright?”

“My dad said he doesn’t know.” Sebastian sits back in his chair as his story winds to a close. “They never heard from them again.”

Kurt shakes his head, rethinking everything Sebastian said about some fantastical monster supposedly living in these woods – one that nearly attacked Sebastian’s father. And that Sebastian’s father told him this tale - Andrew Smythe, a man who’s not prone to storytelling.

“When did your dad tell you all this?” Kurt asks with healthy skepticism.

“Do you remember a few years back, when my dad had that heart attack?” Sebastian asks, noticeably losing some of his energy as he sinks further into his chair.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“He thought he was going to die. He was sure of it, especially when they were prepping him for his bypass.”

“So, it was kind of like a confession?” Kurt asks.

“I guess,” Sebastian says. “More like an apology, I think. He said that the reason we went up here all the time was because he was trying to prove something to himself. That it couldn’t be true. That all he saw was a bear and nothing else.”

Kurt nods. It doesn’t make any sense, but it kind of does. “So, that story is true?”

“As far as I know, it’s true,” Sebastian answers.

“Do you believe it?” Kurt asks, needing Sebastian to say no, needing for Sebastian to pull the rug out and tell Kurt he’s been had. He’ll even accept Sebastian laughing in his face as long as he says he doesn’t believe.

Kurt needs to know that Sebastian mentioning the wind _feeling strange_ is only a coincidence.

“Kurt, have you met my father?” Sebastian asks, incredulous. “Is he the kind of man who makes up stories? For any reason?”

Kurt shakes his head. Sebastian’s dad is a pragmatic man. White lies don’t exist for him, even at the expense of other people’s feelings (an issue Sebastian’s parents had to overcome with regard to the time-honored question of, “Does this make me look fat?” when Sebastian’s mom was pregnant.) Andrew Smythe doesn’t _make up_ anything.

“Okay, so bearing that in mind…why the hell did you bring me here, you ass!?” Kurt yells.

Sebastian’s face goes blank. Why _did_ he bring Kurt up here? He was having a hard time remembering. He had a reason. He came up here to ask Kurt to marry him, but why here? Why now? There was something he needed to know, too. Something he needed to prove to himself…

“Because,” Sebastian says, “even if it’s true…”

“But you said it was true!”

“Y-yes,” Sebastian stumbles, “but do you know how long ago that was? Do you know how many families have been up here since then? This place has been so sterilized by family reunions, Fourth of July weekends, and Boy Scout Camporees that nothing lives up here. When my dad and I use to camp here, we’d see at least one bear fishing by the river. We’d have mule deer by the handfuls meandering in and out of camp. You and I have been here for a day, but we haven’t seen anything. I mean, there was one time I thought…”

A loud screech sounds – the same one from earlier, the one carried in on the wind, but this time not miles away. Much, much closer. Kurt isn’t certain, but it sounds like it could be coming from the opposite side of the river, where that damned coyote’s been howling. In fact, Kurt hasn’t heard that coyote for a while now. Where did he go?

Kurt’s on the brink of nervous laughter, staring down Sebastian with an exasperated expression, waiting for a cocky retort. But instead, that sound seems to make something click inside Sebastian’s head, and his face goes from pale green to ashen.

“Uh, you know, I think I’m going to head to bed,” Sebastian says, standing up from his chair, leaving his plate of food on the ground. His leg twitches as he tries to take a step, but he doesn’t move. His lips, shut around his teeth, start to tremble, but he doesn’t say anything. His upper body leans forward, assuming his lower body will follow, but that doesn’t work either. Kurt stands from his seat and walks over quickly, but not too quickly. He doesn’t want Sebastian to know that he’s noticed something’s wrong. But something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

“Sebastian?” Kurt says. “Sebastian, don’t you think…”

Sebastian’s eyes snap to Kurt’s, and Kurt can see the whites tinged yellow. Kurt stares, but Sebastian smiles, turning his eyes away from Kurt’s scrutiny.

“Come on, babe,” he says with a strained chuckle. “I’m all right.”

Kurt takes Sebastian’s face in his hands, turning it toward the firelight so he can check his eyes again. “You don’t look it.”

“Well, I am,” Sebastian says, wrenching his face away. “Jesus Christ, Kurt!” he growls.

Kurt crosses his arms and takes a step back.

“Fine,” he says, bending to pick up Sebastian’s plate, getting ready to clean up and pack it in for the night beside his stubborn boyfriend. “Far be it for me to worry when you look like you’re about to barf up a liver.”

Kurt turns sharply to walk back to his chair, but Sebastian grabs his arm, his clammy, cold hand locking around Kurt’s wrist.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sebastian says, “let’s get some sleep. If I don’t feel better by morning, we’ll go.”

Kurt’s brows shoot up. “You promise?”

Sebastian winks. “I promise.”

Kurt doesn’t want to spend the night. He wants to leave right now, but he has to concede. He can’t push or Sebastian might change his mind. He hasn’t checked his phone lately, so he doesn’t know if he has any signal. What if he can’t call for help?

“Deal,” Kurt says, glancing down at his watch. 6:47. Technically, morning is less than twelve hours away. He can do this…provided he can actually sleep tonight after that fucking messed-up story.

Sebastian leans in to give Kurt a kiss on the cheek, but he misses, and momentum carries him past Kurt in the direction of the tent. He can’t seem to stop and backtrack, so he decides to keep going. Kurt watches Sebastian walk away. No, walk isn’t the word for it. He stumbles. He stops short. He lists from side to side. Then he sort of tumbles sideways until he reaches the tent opening and falls inside. It would be comical if it wasn’t so fucking frightening.

Morning. Sebastian said wait till morning. Kurt can do morning. And who knows? Maybe Sebastian will sleep it off. Maybe he’ll wake up and feel like a new man. Kurt cleans up the dishes, tosses the food in a trash bag, and then ties everything back up in the tree the way Sebastian showed him. He doesn’t quite remember the knot Sebastian taught him, so he wraps the rope around the trunk of the tree and double-knots it about fifty times. Sebastian will hate it, but they can cut it and start over. Kurt’s too tired to care.

He picks up the bucket of water Sebastian brought up from the river to extinguish the fire. Kurt pours it out gently, filling up the bottom of the fire circle, careful not to disturb the hot sticks and ashes. And just like that, the campsite goes dark. Putting the fire out sends a pillar of smoke up into the air, which shows up grey against the black sky, the only thing in the dark Kurt can see. Kurt isn’t afraid of the dark. He doesn’t mind not being able to see. He knows where the tent is, and even though this is a mostly moonless night - a small sliver of silver hides somewhere behind the trees - he can make his way those ten feet.

His problem is the feeling that someone or something else is out there, and that whatever it is has no problem seeing him in the dark.

***

_Sometime around midnight…_

“Kurt?” ( _shake, shake_ ) “Kurt, wake up.” ( _shake, shake_ )

Kurt whines defiantly as he’s jostled awake. He hadn’t been sleeping that great the past few hours. Too many things haunted his dreams – a moonless night sky, old photographs, three of them, black and imageless, a little boy crying, speaking in broken English as his father yells over him in a language Kurt doesn’t understand, an eerie screech carried on the wind, and an eye – one large, human eye - on the body of a giant lizard with skin of black scales, and it’s running for him, trying to catch him, opening up its smiling mouth full of razor-sharp fangs to get at him…

Okay, sleep has been horrific, but at least he’s been unconscious and immobile, which is where he wants to be. His muscles have seized up on him since he hasn’t been using them to fight another river, and on top of that, a chill crept in beneath the blanket, through a zipped seam that had opened up during the night.

“Kurt?” Another shake. Kurt pulls an arm out of the blanket to bat the intruder away.

“Go away,” Kurt groans and rolls over, but a hand tugs him back.

“No, Kurt,” Sebastian says. “I need you to wake up…now.” He sounds on the brink of tears, so Kurt does his best to pry open his tired eyelids.

Kurt rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, blinking slowly. His vision clears, but the darkness in the tent seems blacker than the darkness behind his eyelids. “What? What is…”

The beam of a flashlight appears in his view along with Sebastian’s face. Coated in sweat, his skin has practically no discernible color. The whites of his eyes have gone bright yellow. His whole body shakes, and his lips - they actually look grey.

“Kurt?” Sebastian says through clenched teeth. “We have to…I think I need a doctor.”

Kurt’s eyes dart quickly to Sebastian’s arm. Sebastian’s hand moves automatically to scratch it, but he hisses in pain when he touches it. Kurt grabs Sebastian’s hand and moves it away. The skin is so green it looks black, the limb swollen to twice its size from elbow to wrist with the scratch taking up most of it - a jagged crevice in the parched flesh, oozing pus. When Kurt sees Sebastian’s arm, he bolts upright, throwing off his blanket.

“Get dressed. We’re going,” Kurt says, sliding across the air mattress to his bag on the other side of the tent. “We’re leaving right now!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a slight description of Sebastian's wound.

_12:16 – 12:59 a.m._

Kurt’s entire world, every millimeter of his focus, narrows the second he catches sight of Sebastian’s arm. Kurt has never known anyone who’s suffered from a horrible, disfiguring disease, but he’s heard about them – grotesque, body-altering ailments reported on by CNN, like sepsis and gangrene and staph, MRSA, flesh-eating bacteria, and Leishmaniosis (that one he heard about on an episode of _House_ ). Then there’s the stuff his nurse stepmom Carole feels is appropriate to discuss over dinner (even though it’s really, really not), like people who went out on hikes (no big deal), got caught in freak landslides, trapped under rocks, and had to cut their own arms off with Swiss Army knives to break free, some with the addition of wolves or coyotes loitering nearby, encroaching, waiting to eat the maimed and helpless hikers alive.

Luckily for Kurt and Sebastian, there’s nothing outside their tent, waiting to eat them.

A long screech splits the sky and Kurt gasps.

At least, he _hopes_ there isn’t.

Kurt watches a sluggish Sebastian try to get on his socks and boots, using mostly one hand while he dresses. The scratch on his wounded arm gapes open with every move. That scratch has definitely begun to fester. Sebastian’s arm below the elbow has puffed up, the skin pulled tight, looking like a misshapen balloon, about ready to pop. Kurt can’t help thinking how fast that infection might spread, especially with them racing down the mountain, his heart speeding, pushing blood through his veins and carrying that poison swiftly throughout his body. Kurt considers whether he should try to put a tourniquet on it, but he doesn’t trust himself to get it right. He’s only taken one official First Aid class in his lifetime, not to mention the time in health class when a nurse tried to teach the sophomores how to perform CPR.

Many compression dummies were violated that day. One went missing.

Kurt didn’t do well in either class. He doesn’t have a knack for tending to wounds, even small ones, and, in the past, he may or may not have fainted at the sight of blood…twice. But aside from that, he’s heard nightmare stories of people who messed up applying tourniquets, and the irreparable damage it caused. He couldn’t live with himself if Sebastian lost an arm.

Of course, being dead would probably suck, too.

He can’t make that decision right now. He’s trying not to panic while shoving everything and anything they might need into his backpack. The thing has bulged to three times its size, understandable since it was originally made to carry only a few books, a laptop, and maybe – just maybe – a bottle of water.

Jesus Christ! but Kurt did not come prepared. But why would he when Sebastian said _he_ would take care of everything, when _he_ packed all the gear, when _he_ picked out all the food, and Kurt was tasked only with bringing what few items he would need to occupy himself with on the off chance they got stuck inside the tent by a random storm and had run out of condoms.

Kurt racks his brain to think of something else that will take his mind off Sebastian’s arm for the next ten minutes. He considers what he’s packed already, and what he’s left unpacked. He’ll have to call Finn to come up and get the rest of their stuff. Kurt won’t be able to pack up the entire camp and take it with them, not when he’s going to have to help Sebastian walk. Besides, it took them five trips to get it all up there. Of course, Kurt refused to help much, so if Finn can find someone to help him, it might only take three trips. Maybe Finn can call Puck and Sam, and they can spend the rest of the weekend there. That way, the campsite won’t be considered a total loss. Maybe Finn can even convince Kurt’s dad to go. If Kurt had known this wasn’t going to be _the_ romantic weekend he was hoping for, then he would have loved to have Finn and his dad there.

God, he wishes his dad were there right now. He was always better at handling a crisis than Kurt.

The zipper on the backpack barely closes, and busts open in several places, but it’s the best Kurt can do. He tried to stick to the necessities – water, his chocolate bars (for energy since they really had nothing else to eat), their mini First Aid kit, an extra flashlight and batteries (he has the flashlight they’ll be carrying set aside), his and Sebastian’s cell phones, their portable chargers, two heavy sweatshirts, the camping matches, and some other odds and ends. He’s already checked their phones. They both have near full batteries, but predictably, they don’t have any signal. Probably interference from the tall trees or the rocky hills. He knows his phone worked at the clearing where the Navigator is parked (he had called his father when they arrived to let him know that they were still alive), so most likely it won’t work again until they get there.

Kurt hears a, “ _Humph_ ,” and a dull thud, and his head pops up right away.

“Sebastian?” Kurt sees his boyfriend sitting on the floor, one boot on, one sock in his hand, staring blankly in his direction.

“Ku-urt,” Sebastian groans, the hand holding his sock shaking, making the thing wave like a flag hit by a weak breeze.

“It’s…it’s okay,” Kurt says, trying not to sound as petrified as he feels. “Let me just help you.”

_I have to get Sebastian out of this tent. I have to get him down to my SUV, and I have to drive him to the hospital._

Kurt says it in his head as he crosses the tent and takes the sock from Sebastian’s hand. He rolls the sock on Sebastian’s foot and follows with the hiking boot. He stays fixed on this goal. He can’t give in to anxiety, but that’s going to be hard when the scratch on Sebastian’s arm has started to smell – a smell as close to death as one Kurt has ever experienced.

_Get Sebastian out of the tent. Get him to my SUV. Drive him to the hospital._

Those are the only three thoughts he lets enter his mind, even as the wind pushes through the branches and leaves shower down on their tent, making a sound like footsteps scampering across the roof. Even as the yipping howl of a different lonely coyote beckons, searching, Kurt thinks, for its mate.

The one that went silent hours ago.

_Sebastian out of the tent. Get to my SUV. Drive to the hospital._

“Okay.” Kurt takes hold of Sebastian’s uninjured arm and pulls him to his feet. “We’ve got your socks on, we’ve got your boots on. I’ll just grab the backpack and the flashlight, and we’ll be out of here.”

Sebastian nods, looking both nauseous and oddly disbelieving.

“It’ll be alright,” Kurt whispers, putting a hand to Sebastian’s cheek – his ice cold, sweaty cheek – and holds his gaze. “I promise. I’ll get you out of here, and this will all be an unhappy memory. Trust me.”

Sebastian’s lips quiver, strained breaths puffing through them as he tries to speak. After a minute of trying, he can only manage a single word.

“Always.”

Sebastian blinks, one lopsided eyelid, then the other. Kurt has to brace himself when he sees the tight ring of Sebastian’s left pupil with the right one blown open wide. He has to push past the idea that out here, on this mountain, miles away from civilization and medical care, that the boyfriend he loves, the man he sees himself spending the rest of his life with, might actually…

 _No,_ he scolds himself. _Not happening. Not here, not tonight._

_Out of the tent. To my SUV. To the hospital._

Kurt picks up his backpack, struggling the heavy thing up his arms and onto his shoulders. He readjusts the straps hastily, leaving him with one strap too loose, but he doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around Sebastian’s torso and helps him to his feet. Sebastian moans in pain, his knees buckling for a second then snapping back straight and going rigid. Kurt looks into his face and sees a tear crawling down his cheek, stopped along its route by the beads of sweat springing up on his skin.

“We’re going to make it, Sebastian,” Kurt says, maneuvering his boyfriend to the door, practically dragging him. “We’re going to get to the Navigator, and we’re going to get you to a hospital. And then… _urgh_ …we are never… _oof_!…going camping… _grrr_ …again.”

Sebastian’s not resisting, but he’s not exactly moving either, and once they get to the door of the tent, Kurt sees why.

The darkness outside their tent has become all consuming. Standing at the threshold of it, Kurt can’t see shapes, he can’t make out silhouettes. It had been a mostly moonless night, but a sliver of it lingered over the hilltops, past the trees. They could just make out its light through the dense leaves. But for the moment, it has completely disappeared, and not the way moonlight dims when it hides behind the clouds, which there are none of.

It has gone, as if it had been snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

In this wilderness, with not a speck of artificial light, the stars should be enough to guide their way.

Except they seem to be absent as well.

Which is why the glowing green orb, floating above the fire ring, shocks Kurt into paralysis.

He’s not the only one. Kurt can’t tell if Sebastian is breathing anymore.

The orb hovers in the air, about head height, bobbing slightly. It’s featureless – a smooth, illuminated globe – but it moves organically, like a mass of lightning bugs swarming in a perfect sphere.

Or like a giant, lidless eye.

And it feels to Kurt like it’s staring right at them.

“Kurt?”

Kurt hears Sebastian’s frightened voice call his name, begging him to do something. Kurt’s first instinct is to throw something, but he can’t take his eyes off that orb, not even for a second. He feels something catastrophic might happen if he does. The only thing available is the flashlight, and he’s not tossing that.

But maybe if he has a better idea of what he’s dealing with…

He fumbles with the flashlight, his thumb searching for the switch. He scrapes his nail up and down the side, but he can’t find it. He turns the flashlight around in his hand once, twice, then stumbles on the small switch and flicks it on. He aims the flashlight up toward the orb, shining a beam right on it, but whatever caused the green glow dissipates into the night air.

“Wh-what…what was that?” Sebastian asks, fear giving him energy and strength he didn’t have. He trips backward, trying to get further inside the tent. “What the fuck was that!?”

“It was nothing,” Kurt answers, holding tight to Sebastian’s arm. Kurt can’t let Sebastian escape his hold. If he gets back in the tent and under the blankets, there will be no getting him to leave, and time is slipping away from them. “Just a reflection of the moon.”

“What moon, Kurt?” Sebastian screams. “There is no moon!” Sebastian stops. He spins his head around. “There is no moon,” he mumbles. “There is no moon.” Realization hits, and Sebastian goes hysterical. “There is no moon, Kurt! There is no moon!”

“Yes, there is,” Kurt assures him, moving forward, speaking with false calm. “The moon is out there, Sebastian. You just can’t see it. But I promise, once we get out of here, once we get down to the Navigator, you’ll be able to see it. Now come on. We have go.”

Kurt throws Sebastian’s arm over his shoulder, supporting his body weight as they limp away, but Sebastian doesn’t walk very fast. He can’t. After fifteen steps, they’re barely to the fire ring. Sebastian wheezes, breaths ragged, a gurgling coming from his lungs.

But Kurt doesn’t let that affect him. He doesn’t let it slow his course.

_Tent. SUV. Hospital._

They take each step together, walking at Sebastian’s pace, but with each one, Kurt feels that they’re not moving fast enough. They have to go faster. There’s something alive in these woods, something not normal, something more malicious than trees and rocks and bears…and it’s going to catch up with them. It’s going to catch up with them sooner or later.

_Go. Go. GO!_

“Kurt…” Sebastian groans. “Kurt…please…I can’t…I can’t walk…that fast.”

“Sebastian…” Kurt strong-arms Sebastian into taking a few more unsteady steps. “We have to get out of here.”

“I know,” Sebastian says. “I just…I need a minute. I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

“If you can talk, you can breathe,” Kurt says harshly, detached from Sebastian’s pain.

“Kurt, _please_ ,” Sebastian begs, the words cracking.

Kurt stops. They’re past the edge of the campsite and into the trees. He relaxes a bit, but he doesn’t want to give in to the illusion that this cover means they’re safe, especially since whatever he wants to hide them from can likely see them through this shield of branches.

“Fine,” Kurt says. “But only for a minute. We have to keep going. We can’t stop.”

“Yeah…you see,” Sebastian says, leaning against a rock, “I was hoping…you’d be saying that…for a different reason.”

It takes Sebastian a while to get the whole sentence out, but when he does, he coughs out a laugh to go with it, and Kurt smiles. If he can joke about sex in his current condition, there’s got to be hope for him yet.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kurt says. “You kind of crashed and burned in the tent before, let’s not forget.”

“No,” Sebastian says with another cough/laugh. “And I’m sure…you’ll be reminding me of that…till the day…I die.”

A breeze passes through and Kurt goes cold. The leaves shiver, breaking free and spiraling down. Kurt watches them fall and thinks how they don’t look brittle, or even brown. They’re still tender and green. But now that they’re away from their branches, they’ll die. They’ll die and decay and become part of the blanket they’re standing on.

_Till the day Sebastian dies._

Why did Kurt agree to come up to this mountain? Why didn’t he insist on going someplace else? Why didn’t he make Sebastian leave when they realized his EpiPen was missing?

Kurt shakes his head and puts the pity party on pause. He can finish counting out his own stupidities once they get to a hospital.

“Okay,” Sebastian says, “I think…I’m ready. I…” He looks down and catches sight of his pants – his ridiculous, spotty pink sweatpants. He takes a hand and smooths down the sides near the pockets. With a furrowed brow, he goes over them one more time, patting them. Patting them harder, he makes a noise of horror that sets every hair on Kurt’s body standing on end. Frantic green eyes dart left and right. Kurt knows Sebastian probably can’t see well in the dark, not with one pupil constricted, but he still sweeps his gaze around, searching for something.

“We…we have to…we have to go back.” Sebastian pushes off the rock, wobbling himself forward, trying to move.

“What!?” Kurt exclaims, blocking Sebastian’s path. Sebastian’s comment comes out of nowhere, and squeezes at Kurt’s chest. “What the…no! We can’t go back!”

“You…you don’t understand, Kurt,” Sebastian mumbles, his lips no longer working right. He swallows three times to bring moisture back to his mouth. “There’s something…I left behind…that I need. It’s important.”

“Nothing’s _that_ important,” Kurt argues, grabbing Sebastian by the arms and pushing him back toward the rock. “I’ll give you three more minutes, then we go again, _down_ the mountain.”

“But…Kurt…” Sebastian takes a handful of shallow breaths in lieu of one competent one.

“No,” Kurt cuts him off firmly. “We cannot go back. Whatever it is, Finn will find it. Or I’ll buy you a new one.”

Sebastian shakes his head while Kurt argues, waiting for Kurt to stop talking. Kurt takes a breath and Sebastian fixes him with his one good eye.

“I have…important…go back…”

Sebastian has started losing his ability to speak, and Kurt knows they don’t have a lot of time. They _have_ to get off the mountain. They _have_ to get to his SUV. They _have_ to get to a hospital. That’s the plan, and they can’t divert from the plan, not for a second, not even for something that Sebastian seems to think is so fucking important that it’s worth risking his life for. But Sebastian is obviously upset. And stubborn – he can be so, so stubborn. He’ll probably refuse to leave without _whatever_ it is. But Sebastian can’t walk that far. They both know it. He can’t even stand up without teetering. Whatever energy he has left, he needs to save for their trip to Kurt’s vehicle which means…

Sebastian looks at Kurt with desperation, and Kurt swallows a bitter taste thinking about it.

“But…but Sebastian.”

“Please, Kurt?” Sebastian begs, the red veins in the whites of his eyes becoming darker as he stares, turning orange since the whites of Sebastian’s eyes aren’t white anymore. “Please? I’ll be…fine…for five…minutes.”

Kurt wants to laugh and ask, “You? What about me? Do you even remember the green orb thingy?”

But he doesn’t.

Sebastian grabs Kurt’s hand. Unable to close his fingers around it, his hand falls limply to his lap.

“We…we can’t leave…without it. Please. Please, Kurt. Please.” Sebastian starts to whimper. Kurt doesn’t think he’s heard Sebastian whimper before. Not really. Not when he’s not teasing. But he sounds near tears as he repeats, “Please, please…” as if it’s the only thing that he can say.

“Alright. I’ll go,” Kurt relents, feeling a deadening sensation tackle his back and rush straight up to his neck. “Tell me, what am I looking for?”

Sebastian stops pleading and peers into Kurt’s eyes, as if he can transfer an image there. He clears his throat, tries to speak, but his tongue trips him up. He takes a hand and slaps at his knee, and Kurt looks from his knee to his eyes, confused.

“What? Your knee? Something to do with your knee? I…”

Sebastian shakes his head, then picks at the fabric of his pants with his fingers, pinching it and tugging it, grunting.

“Pants?” Kurt frowns. “You want me to get you pants?”

Sebastian nods his head, grabbing the fabric in both hands and wringing it. Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“Your wet jeans?” Kurt asks disgusted. “You want me to go back to the tent for your wet jeans?”

When Sebastian nods again, Kurt wants to smack him across the face.

“You want me to go all the way back there for your wet ass jeans? Are you kidding me?”

Sebastian folds his hands beneath his chin in an attempt to plead once again, but Kurt waves him away. They’ve already wasted too much time as it is.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s important.” Kurt takes off the backpack and drops it to the floor. “Here…” He hands Sebastian the flashlight. Kurt knows without it he’ll be walking blind, but he figures looking for the other one in his backpack is too much of a hassle when he’s only going about twenty feet away. “You stay right here. Point this at the ground. I’ll be right back.”

Kurt doesn’t stop to kiss Sebastian goodbye. He takes off quickly through the brush and the branches, ducking and leaping where required so as not to break his stride. It would probably be smarter not to make as much noise as he is, seeing as even if there are no such thing as scary, mystical monsters in these woods, there are still large predators, like bears, lurking nearby. But he wants Sebastian to hear him. He wants Sebastian to know that he’s okay.

But how will Kurt know that Sebastian is okay? He stops for a moment to get his bearings. He doesn’t hear a thing but his own breathing. When he holds his breath, he hears the wind, a howl, and a distant, drawn out screech.

He doesn’t hear crickets, no nighttime insects singing their songs, no birds chirping anywhere above him. Even at night, there should be something more than the sound of silence ringing in his ears. But life in the woods seems dead – or hiding. Like not just him, but everything around him is holding its breath.

If that’s true, they know for certain what Kurt only suspects.

Kurt slows his steps as he approaches the campsite, his body knowing long before he does that he shouldn’t be here, that he should turn around and go back, jeans be damned. But these jeans might be the difference between a cooperative Sebastian doing the best he can to get down the mountain, or a pouting Sebastian making Kurt carry him fireman style the entire way.

Kurt has no idea what could be so important about this one pair of jeans that Sebastian would make him go back for them. They were soaked through and not hung to dry. They’re going to be damp and smell mildewy. They’re going to be ruined. So there’s literally no need to bring them. Besides, Sebastian probably has a dozen of those exact same jeans at home. Sebastian buys his clothes in bulk. Once he finds something he likes, that fits his body the way he wants, he buys six or seven at a shot. And he’s not clingy. Once, on a shopping spree in Manhattan, Sebastian bought three pairs of $150 sneakers, and then immediately gave them to some homeless guys, so his insistence on retrieving this one pair of jeans makes no sense. But that’s par for the course, because nothing about this trip makes any sense.

Sebastian spends months talking about a luxury resort they don’t go to.

He takes Kurt – Kurt Hummel, of all people – camping in the wilderness.

He picks the one place he knows of that has some spooky and potentially homicidal back story.

Maybe whatever lunacy Bernard Smythe suffered from skips a generation.

The gloom presses in and the wind begins to blow, stronger here than out where Sebastian waits, and Kurt decides he knows one thing for sure.

If he dies retrieving Sebastian’s pair of skunky jeans, Kurt will haunt Sebastian from the afterlife until the end of time.

Kurt feels his heart race, but he doesn’t want to make this more than it is. He doesn’t want to give power to his fear. When he gets to the edge of the campsite, he steps over the boundary and walks on in, cautiously, but otherwise unaffected. It might be the biggest bullshitting he’s ever done, but he’s an actor. He can pull it off. Besides, animals can smell fear, so he’s not really putting up a front for them. He’s putting it up for himself, so he can walk into that dark tent without screaming is head off.

The campsite feels different – oppressively spooky compared to the surrounding woods where they’ve been walking, regardless of the fact that they left not ten minutes earlier.

“Okay,” Kurt says, trying to act casual as he tiptoes past their camping chairs, the fire ring, the cooler. He trips over a root and stumbles, but makes it to the tent without making too much noise. The flaps to the tent are unzipped, and flutter with the wind, _thwap-thwap-thwapping_ loudly. They reach out as he moves toward them, snapping at him, like they’re trying to warn him away. He peeks into the tent from outside the reach of the rippling fabric. It’s pitch black. Anything could be in there, and as long as it stayed quiet, Kurt wouldn’t know.

Suddenly he wishes he’d dug that flashlight out of the backpack after all.

“Hello in there,” he calls, hoping his voice might frighten any small animals – or prompt a larger animal to make a noise that will warn him before he willingly enters a den of death. “Ca-caw! Ca-caw!” He makes more noise, imitates birds calls, then some plain nonsense yelling, smacking the side of the tent to flush whatever might be hiding in there out. After his outburst, he waits, but he hears nothing. He figures the only thing left is to venture inside. He reverts back to his mantra to give him strength – _tent, hospital, SUV_ – scowling at the fact that after crossing one of those hurdles off his list, here he is, back at the beginning again.

Kurt plans on doing this part quickly and then bolting for the woods. He’s doesn’t want to spend any more time alone, especially here. It’s disquieting. He feels like he’s walking into a trap.

He ducks inside the tent and looks around. There is no light, but he basically remembers where everything is. He tries to picture Sebastian undressing before they had sex. He tossed his wet jeans to the side. Where did he toss them to? Kurt pictures it in his mind – Sebastian’s sly _you’re-gonna-get-it_ grin, his teasing, the constant scratching, before they heard that obnoxious -

 _Scccccrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeecccccchhhhhhh_!

The sound slices through the air, directly over his head, and his heart jumps into his throat. There’s a rustle, not of the leaves above him, but the branches around the perimeter. Kurt leaps to the entrance of the tent and zips up the flaps. He backs up slowly, walking to the center of the tent, and he waits. Waits for something to happen, something to howl or screech, or attack the tent. Something to tear through to walls with teeth and claws, trying to reach him.

He’s right. He did walk into a trap.

 _Scccccrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeecccccchhhhhhh_!

Well, whatever’s out there, if it wants to eat him, he’s not going to stand around and make it easy. Kurt drops to his knees and feels the floor around the edge of the tent. He saw Sebastian throw them. He remembers hearing them land. He laughed at the disgusting squelching noise they made. They hadn’t been far. Sebastian kept looking at them…

“A-ha!” Kurt’s hand touches something cold and wet. He grabs them and holds them tight. No matter what, they’re not getting away from him. He’s not coming back again. He doesn’t care if he has to drag Sebastian’s body down the mountain on a stretcher made of twigs like in a Hardy Boys’ novel. Kurt hops to his feet and runs for the entrance to the tent, a rustle of leaves chasing him as he reaches the front. Kurt stops and crouches, squinting to peep through the miniscule holes in the closed zip, trying to see if anything is waiting outside before he opens it up. What if that glowing orb is back again? He didn’t think of that. The only thing that seemed to scare it off was the light from the flashlight.

Like the monster in Sebastian’s story. The fire from his dad’s stick frightened it away.

But Kurt doesn’t have fire. He doesn’t have a flashlight. He doesn’t have the camping matches. Sebastian has all of that. At least Sebastian will be safe.

_Oh, God. Please let Sebastian still be safe._

Kurt is met with a few long minutes of absolute silence. No rustling leaves. No wind shaking the tent walls. No bloodcurdling screech. An absence of sound, almost as terrifying as the foreboding noises that came before it.

Kurt inches the zipper down a tooth at a time, keeping his eyes peeled for forms, for movement, for light. He sees nothing…he sees nothing…he sees nothing…then he sees something. A definite something. Something that makes him lean forward, the zipper dragging down to the floor, his heart stopping dead.

It’s the campsite…or what’s left of it. What was a simple matter of a tent, two chairs, and a fire ring is now a disaster. The chairs have been broken, the frames snapped, the fabric ripped to pieces. The cooler has been flattened, its contents littering the floor, ground into the dirt. The stones in the fire ring are everywhere, as if they were picked up and tossed. A few of the trees surrounding the space have deep gouges in the bark, like claw marks, spilling sap, black and thick, oozing like blood.

Everything Kurt sees has been torn to shreds.

Everything…except the tent.

“Oh my…oh my God,” Kurt says, that squeezing in his chest tightening to break his ribs. “I can’t…who would…” As his own shuddered breathing fills his head, he remembers he’s not talking to anyone. He’s completely alone.

And somebody – or something – knows.

The wreckage of the campsite triggers something in his head, something deep. It turns his insides into jelly. It makes his knees weak. It makes him want to vomit.

But mostly, it makes him want to run. It makes him blind to the world around him, zeroing in on one goal and that’s the beam from Sebastian’s flashlight, lighting up the forest floor, out in the woods.

Kurt can’t see it yet, but if he gets moving he will.

“On the count of three,” he says to himself. He takes a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm him, then he starts counting. “One…two…”

He doesn’t make it to _three_.

The screech returns, this one grating, but also low and close by, and Kurt makes a break for the woods. He doesn’t know if he runs past something. He doesn’t hear any noise with the pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know if the moon shows its face now that he’s free of the campsite. He feels nothing for the moment but his feet beating the floor. His eyes stay glued ahead until he spots a light in front of him. He alters his direction and heads straight for it. It’s his lifeline. At the end of it, he knows Sebastian is waiting. Apart from that, he knows he’s not safe; Sebastian’s not safe. The light from the flashlight becomes a beacon. He can’t look away.

If there’s something, anything, coming for him, he doesn’t want to see it.

“Sebastian,” Kurt calls, trying not to yell too loudly, becoming more aware of his surroundings as he gets closer. As his night vision improves, individual trees become distinct, rock formations become milestones, their designation in the ground outlining his way. He’s creating a map in his brain, rudimentary at best (a Cub Scout with a napkin and a crayon could probably do a way better job), preparing for any eventuality. “Sebastian…Sebastian, I’m coming.” Kurt breaks through the branches and sees the forward half of the rock – the one Sebastian’s propped up on to keep from falling. “Sebastian,” Kurt says, “I have your stinking jeans. Now let’s go.”

Kurt reaches the beam of light, the toe of his shoe breaking through the circle of yellow illuminating the ground, but that’s all.

The flashlight’s there, perched on a narrow ledge on the rock, wedged at an angle and facing down.

But there’s no Sebastian in sight.


End file.
